
This, of course, takes nothing away from the spectacular, tawny wonder that was Farrah Fawcett. Everyone knows The Poster. Fuck “Baywatch,” she made the one-piece red swimsuit. And, of course, the hair – heavens, the hair. So her passing last week after a brutal and brave battle with cancer was a stark reminder of our collective humanity. It was also a reminder that people’s personal connections with the icons of their youth are stronger (way stronger – damn, people – I come in peace) than we realize sometimes. Last week, almost every tribute to Farrah I read mentioned the countless teenage boys who had her poster on their walls. But let’s not forget the gals who, no doubt, stared with more than just girlish admiration at Farrah’s thrown-back head and cascading golden mane.
Still Farrah was more than just a pretty face. Not all spectacularly sexy women want to be more than just spectacularly sexy. But Farrah did. In groundbreaking roles like “The Burning Bed” and “Extremities” she shed light on the plight of abused women. And then, sadly, when she was diagnosed with cancer, she again used her light to shine it on her battle and raise awareness about the disease. Gorgeous, iconic, conscientious, courageous. Farrah’s life – filled with its beauty and grace, struggle and pain – is a reminder that it’s the journey not the destination that matters.
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